


The best policy

by maybeillride



Category: Free!
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Office, Editor!Sou, Gift Fic, Haru teaches Sou a few things, He's early 20s, He's late 30s, M/M, Secret Relationship, SmarmyAdGuy!Kisumi, SouHaru Week, SouHaru Week 2015, artist!haru
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-09
Updated: 2015-12-09
Packaged: 2018-05-05 19:13:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5387159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maybeillride/pseuds/maybeillride
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that he apparently has me where he wants me, Haru’s almost manic energy is gone. I blink speechlessly as he settles – slowly, softly – down between my splayed legs, crossing his legs comfortably like I’m about to tell him a story. I wish I could see his face. He’s in shadow, his dark hair falling forward but an odd shine reflecting at me from his big eyes.</p><p>“…okay, Haru. I like little surprises as much as anyone, but really, you gotta tell me what’s going on or I’m gonna lose it here,” I finally say, voice low. I think I see a glimmer as he smiles.</p><p>“That’s what I’m counting on,” he says.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The best policy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkotter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkotter/gifts), [Daxii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daxii/gifts).
  * Inspired by [I'll Think Of Something Later](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3324386) by [Daxii](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Daxii/pseuds/Daxii). 



> This slice of melodrama, smut and feels (I hope?) exists for three reasons:  
> For the lovely darkotter, who's patiently waited and i hope it meets your needs;  
> For the lovely Daxii, who let me borrow her own brilliant SouHaru universe to play with;  
> And for the fabulous SouHaru week which is a great excuse to hang out with these guys.
> 
> (but really, do we need one??)

I’m deep … deep in my boy, my baby, feels like there’s no end and I could just thrust in and go on forever.

(I know that’s a bunch of incoherent romantic bullshit and am pretty damn aware of the realities of human anatomy; but that doesn’t change the feeling that there’s no real boundary between our bodies, the impression that is completely unlike anyone I’ve had before him.)

(And that I’m completely addicted to.)

Haru’s under me, and with no time to do this properly between the welcome dinner we just finished and the drinks we’re off to next, he’s still in his trim button-down, just-this-side-of-sexy skinny trousers kicked onto the floor. I’m still in my conference-wear too, both of us hungry enough for each other it didn’t even occur to me to get rid of my own pants, and it’s just lucky I always pack a lot on trips like this as I won’t be wearing _these_ again.

We have this rhythm going; for what’s essentially a quickie, to use a retro-cutesy word, it’s funny that we aren’t moving particularly fast. It’s more – _insistent,_ as I rock back and forth, my hips a stubborn hinge that refuses to budge as I stay as deep in Haru as I can, like my body can’t stand to be out of him if it can help it.

Haru’s right with me, his calves crossed around my waist – so flexible – and rocking with me, easily, like we’re slow-dancing. It’s weird, this easy communication our bodies have that our mouths took ages to get down, and that we still fuck up spectacularly from time to time…

“…ugh, Souuu…” Haru groans out, his voice rough and raw, like he’s been smoking all his (short) life. “Ugh, God, God….!”

“Quiet, Haru,” I mutter into his ear. There’s no way of knowing who’s on our floor, who could have the room right on the other side of the wall behind us… if it’s someone we just had dinner with…?

Haru’s hands bunch my dress shirt in fists over my chest like he’s in a melodramatic argument with me, and I lift my head to find a faraway look on his gorgeous face.

“Close?” I whisper thickly.

“Yes! _Sou_ suke, yes…!” he blurts, _loud,_ sudden, and I don’t think, just react, fumbling a giant hand up to cover his mouth. His giant blue eyes squint up at me.

“Shhh!” I hiss, shaky as I start speeding myself into the finish, and his gasps are hot against my palm as I fuck firmly into him. Then I’m planted as far as I can be inside, my entire body rigid and shuddering and Haru’s eyes don’t leave mine and then it’s over.

I withdraw my hand and that’s when the guilt hits, wondering if I embarrassed him and if he was okay, how well he could even breathe during that. He’s panting as he comes down, and eyeing me alright, with a look like he used to give me way back during that first week we started working together … narrow and skeptical and pissed. Coupled with his messy hair painted over the pillow, his high color and sweaty cheeks, it kicks off a complicated reaction in me.

Defensiveness, irritation – amusement, protectiveness – the urge to lean down, tilt in and claim that little mouth, start up fucking him again like we’d never stopped.

It’s a big confusing mess to be honest, so I avoid the issue, dropping down for what I intend to be a lazy, satisfied post-coital kiss. Playful, sort of conspiratorial. But Haru’s not buying it.

“Get off, you … animal,” he grouses, wriggling his torso away from me even as we’re still joined at the hips, like I’m the hour-hand at 12 and he’s the second hand racing around the dial. It’s weirdly erotic and I drag my thoughts up from my dick where they’ve all temporarily relocated.

“Um… woof?” I try (in one of our little inside jokes) but I push myself up, freeing him from me. He’s off the bed immediately and rounding the other bed, pristine and untouched, on his way to the bathroom. I have to slide the condom off so he has a head-start on me, and the hollow _whoosh_ of the tub is no surprise. But my stomach flutters. We don’t have timefor Haru to be mad at me. We’re overdue down in the hotel bar, and we _have_ to be there.

I knock insistently. “Baby, open up.” The tub roars on. I sigh and knock again, harder this time. “Haru, I mean it. We don’t have time for this.”

The door clicks open so unexpectedly I fall a step in. Haru’s there, naked, holding it open and fixing me with his challenging look, the one where he somehow manages to not-blink like a damn python. I gaze stupidly down at him.

“ _You_ don’t have time for this, Sou. You’re the one who’s all hot to go network.” He shifts feet and looks down, and his weird power switches off; he’s just a kid in his early twenties again, mad and unsure of himself. I don’t know why, and I don’t even know if it’s “okay,” but that’s my body’s cue to step up and take him into my arms. He lets me, turning his head against my chest.

“Yeah, but I want you right there with me. That’s the whole point of being here – we’re a team, the artist and the editor. We gotta hang out with these guys as a matched set.” I crane around and softly kiss his forehead. He _hmms_ against me and gently pulls back, and his eyes are big, his blinking rapid. I kiss the bridge of his nose.

“I know you hate social stuff like this. So just let me be in charge, okay? Don’t worry about having to make conversation, or any of that shit. Just relax and enjoy having a drink or two on the company.” He makes an incredulous huffing sound but he’s wearing a little amused smile, and I know I’ve assuaged his fears.

Haru… is so awkward in social situations. When we’re alone, just us, at his place or (usually) at mine, he’s so bold and forward he’s capable of making me blush. But when we have to get out together in public somewhere that matters, it’s like he’s a different person. He’s built up quite the reputation at work as “The Artiste” among other, snarkier nicknames, his obvious raw talent securing him respect but his countless… _quirks_ keeping people talking.

I’ve noticed the names tend to really make the rounds when someone gets curiousabout our relationship (working or otherwise). He’s tucked away in my office so often with the door closed, guys have taken to waggling their eyebrows at me in the cafeteria and calling me “sensei.”

I just stare blankly at them and that diffuses things. But sometimes I wonder, is that really jealousy I’m hearing?

I reach out and cup his jaw, just for a second. “…go ahead and clean yourself up, and save the bath for after the bar. I’ll make it worth your while.”

He gives me a _surrre_ look but his eyes are relaxed and warm, and I’m glad. I turn to find something casual to wear.

We’re riding the elevator down to the lobby when I notice the bruise on his collarbone. The wide V-neck of his black cashmere sweater displays the hickey almost like Haru chose it for that express purpose, the purple dark and almost accusatory against his fine skin.

Haru’s looking peacefully up at the descending numbers like he’s meditating, tunelessly humming to himself as I gape down in a sort of _oh shit oh shit_ freeze. He finally glances over and sees my face, and lightly hits my shoulder.

“Hey. No farting in the elevator.”

“The hickey,” I say, ignoring him. I tug the collar to the side to cover it, which just makes his sweater practically fall off his other shoulder in a boyfriend-shirt way, which is even worse. I pull it back while he just side-eyes me. “We have to go back so you can change.”

Haru is completely unconcerned, turning to face me and reaching up to undo another of my shirt buttons like he’s making fun of me. “What’s wrong with a hickey? People get ‘em all the time.”

“Haru.” I hate that I’ve let my commanding voice creep in around the edges, but the bell dings for the lobby and he’s already leaving, and I can’t usher him back in without looking like a date. Or a dad. I hurry after him. And here he seemed so hesitant to go to this.

Shizu-san from Rapid Force Designs turns around from a dense knot of men parked in the doorway to the bar, all laughing too loud. His face lights up as he hurries over to us.

“Yamazaki-san, so good you could come! I wondered if I maybe scared you off with that story I told at dinner,” he laughs, knocking his pilsner glass into my chest. He turns and sizes Haru up avidly. “Remind me now, who is your brilliant young protégé here…?”

My hand is on Haru’s shoulder, fingers casually covering the mark before I even think about it. “This is Nanase Haruka. Brilliant is right. In five years we’re gonna see him on the cover of _Advertising Age –_ you heard it here first.”

Then I stop, tongue tangled over whatever might have been coming next, for a second or two taking in the rival ad exec’s wide, interested eyes… but mostly Haru’s face, carefully in my peripheral vision, hard to read as always. Doing his unique silent treatment – part introversion, part irritation, part mortification at being the sudden center of attention, other parts I haven’t had a chance to decode yet.

Shizu-san claps my back with the hand not holding his beer (thank God). “Well, I can’t wait to get to know you both a little better and see if Nanase-san might be interested in exploring other options.”

I snort so loud it’s rude. “Finders-keepers, sir.”

The older man laughs again. “Well, we’ll just have to see. I have a table for us inside, your colleague Shigino-san is already here gossiping.” He leads us forward into the haze of smoke creeping out of the open door, turning back to chuckle, “I had _no_ idea that man was so entertaining!”

“You could say that,” I say noncommittally. The conference crowd is too thick to walk side-by-side so I gently steer Haru in front of me by the hand on his shoulder. His hair does this funny thing in the back, dovetailing around naturally in a way I know Haru doesn’t style (because Haru doesn’t style _anything_ ). The soft black finger points down his exposed nape, like every part of my boy is daring me to touch him in the crowd, bend in for a kiss there-and-gone, when I know I can’t. I settle for dropping my hands to his waist and squeezing, the cashmere soft and his muscles warm under my hands.

“Heyyyy!” Shizu-san roars as we shove out and right into a corner booth, my hands safely in my pockets. “Lookie-here, Shigino, I found your friends!”

Kisumi looks up from where he’s comfortably sprawled in the corner, long arms stretched out across the back of the booth. His eyes are bright and face pink and I take note of the impressive empty-glass collection on the table, even with only two more guys there, a pair of middle-aged exec-types I don’t recognize.

“Sousuke! Haru!” Kisumi spreads his hands to indicate the half-full pitcher on the table like a hostess on a game show revealing the grand prize. “ _Beer!_ ”

“…you know, Kisumi, I always knew you were smart.” I lean in and pat his cheek mockingly, and he just gives me a sly wink.

“Hey, let _me_ sit next to Haru, yeah? I never get the chance, with you hogging him in your office all the time,” Kisumi complains, and I freeze for an instant before doing the quick mental calculus that’s becoming a compulsion. If Kisumi sits by Haru, there’s a chance he’ll get loose and friendly in all the ways that are _Kisumi’s_ particular compulsion, which could raise a few eyebrows. But it’s a conference, these are outsiders, and Kisumi is a professional who knows better. I hope.

I slowly relax into the seat next to Shizu-san, the jovial guy pouring out two fresh beers for me and Haru. Haru just as slowly sinks next to Kisumi and quietly accepts both the beer and the arm Kisumi bumps against the back of his head as he slings it around his shoulders.

“A toast!” Shizu-san cries. “To new connections!”

We “hear-hear” and “kampai!” and clack our glasses together and I slurp down enough that I choke a little when I come back up for air. I can’t help glancing across the debauchery of the table, expecting to see a prim centimeter or so missing from Haru’s glass, only to find it half-empty.

“…Haru. Shouldn’t you. Take it easy?” I fumble, and one of the two unnamed exec-types snickers.

“What, you scared the kid’s gonna drink ya under the table? I think you’re safe,” he grins, then wobbles his head at me unevenly. “Koto.” He lays a hand on his chest. “Yamamoto.” He claps his colleague’s shoulder. “We’re from FireStar Solutions. Good to meet you both.”

I nod and smile evenly, finding my “business-face”. “You too. It’s good to be here and out of the office. You know you’re working too hard when a bunch of lectures feels like a break.”

The guy’s colleague leans in to clink my glass again. “Eh, let’s get real. _This_ is what we all came for. Not a bunch of PowerPoints and business cards and shit from the exhibit hall.” He squints around the table in a _who’s with me?_ look that shoots the first little pang of caution into me. His bleary gaze settles on Kisumi, who raises his eyebrows in amusement as he takes another long drink.

“So,” the guy starts. “Shigino was telling us about this club around here.” He waves his glass across the table in a _go on!_ Kisumi just shrugs, smiling. My uncertainty grows.

“Hottest women in town,” our mysterious not-quite-friend explains, staring across the table at me with a subtle warning in his expression that you’d miss if you didn’t know him. Haru turns to look at him too, while our new contacts at the table explode in mini-cacophony.

“…you hear that?? Hottest women in _town._ In fucking _Tokyo._ Not too shabby, eh?” the first exec-type whose name I’ve already forgotten chimes in. He waves a hand across at Shizu. “Poor Shizu, he pulled out his wallet and showed us this photo of his wife. I think he deserves a break from _that_ beauty queen.” He barks like a dog and the three men bust out laughing, Kisumi watching with a neutral face and Haru… stone-cold.

Shizu shakes his head, catching his breath. He nods at me. “So Shigino told us he’s a swinging single and up for anything tonight, which is just what we’re looking for. How about you, Yamazaki?” He blinks expectantly and while both the question and his face are open, I know exactly what it means. I show you mine, you show me yours – this ancient ritual I’ve taken part in God knows how many times, a way to prove we can be trusted.

I shift in the booth, feeling like an actor in a terrible play who’s forgotten not only his next line but the rest of the script. The eyes across the booth – knowing and incredulous, respectively – lay on me and then my mouth is saying something.

“…I’m so sorry, sir. I just can’t go with you tonight. My fiancée would have my balls.”

Shizu grins and the other two exec-types do him one better and bust out laughing again. I carefully keep my eyes away from the other side of the table.

“Fiancée, eh? Woman isn’t even married to you yet and she already owns you, what’s that about?” The older man leans in and I sit paralyzed, like he’s a snake about to strike. “What kind of a professional man is ordered around by a _fiancée?_ ”

“Yeah, tell us,” Haru suddenly says, his first words at this event that’s suddenly taken a nose-dive into the toilet, and I turn to meet his challenging stare. Kisumi’s still wearing the lightest of smiles, that fucker.

“She’s… like no one I’ve ever met,” I say stiffly. “My days of fucking around are over, even if she’ll never find out about it. I’m sorry.” I throw a peanut from the basket on the table at Kisumi. “You’ll just have to let our friend here go on our behalf.” Kisumi easily scoops down and snaps it out of midair, winking at me again as he chews. The hee-haw exec-section laughs again.

“…ah, wait. Don’t be so quick to speak for your young man, here,” Shizu says over the noise, waving his hands, and my breath catches reflexively at his choice of words. At the sound of it, _my young man,_ the contours I’ve drawn around the Haru in my mind for so long, but in someone else’s mouth.

“Ah?” I ask blankly.

“Well, I bet Nanase would enjoy a night out, even if it is with a bunch of ancients like us. _You_ remember how it was to be young, don’t you, boys?” Shizu says archly, elbowing my side and nodding across to Kisumi, and the idiotic fucking laughter continues, and Kisumi raises a careful eyebrow, and Haru opens his mouth –

“No, I’m sorry, he won’t be able to make it either,” I move into the gap, so smoothly and confidently I’d laugh at myself if I could. Haru slowly closes his mouth. “We have a lot of work to do on our presentation yet, we haven’t even finished the graphics.” I toss the rest of the beer back and set the empty glass down, then edge out and stand up. “So sorry again. Have fun, be safe.”

For a second, I think Haru’s staying, whether because he’s fucking livid at me, he can’t escape from under the anchor of Kisumi’s arm, or hell, because he genuinely wants to go to this club and get a lapdance and/or get fucked by some random ( _female_ ) sex-worker. We’ve never actually talked about that before, whether Haru might like girls as well as guys, whether he might enjoy being with one, taking control…

Then he’s shrugging out from Kisumi’s arm, and before he gets up I watch as the larger man leans in and says something in his ear. My own ear burns with the desire to hear what’s being said but the rival execs are distracting me with hoots and comments about me being a slave-driver and little whip-sounds, and I have to turn to make the obligatory business-card-exchange.

Haru walks fast to thread out of the crowd, to cross the lobby, and punches the Up button without a word. I join him silently and when we’re finally, _finally_ in the little box I turn him to me insistently.

“Hey, I got you out of that, you better not be pissed at me.” My voice is too loud in the small space like I’m still trying to yell over the mindless din of the bar and I wince. He just looks up at the numbers again like he did on the trip down, only instead of peaceful his face is rigid. I reach out to lay a hand on his cheek. “ _Hey._ ”

He flicks his eyes over to meet mine and the challenge in them is so over-the-top part of me wants to laugh but most of me rises up hotly to meet it, but he lays his hand over my mouth before I can say anything. The bell dings at our floor, and he says “…c’mon” and heads swiftly out.

I’m confused – am I in the doghouse? Am I in the clear? – and oddly intrigued, and just follow him stupidly as the hallway turns and we’re at our room. Haru has the door open and then we’re here, we’re in, tomorrow’s PowerPoint I lied about is ready to go and we can just take that bath I promised him, and the water is bound to smooth things over.

But Haru isn’t even stopping to turn on the lights, leading us through the room and to the balcony and sliding the door open. He insistently pushes me through and shuts the door behind him.

Tokyo is bright and buzzing and noisy below us, the warm spring sky a dark shield overhead. I don’t get a chance to appreciate it or make any smart-ass comments, though, as Haru pushes me firmly into one of the two patio chairs. It’s so sudden, I make a little _oof!_ in surprise.

Now that he apparently has me where he wants me, Haru’s almost manic energy is gone. I blink speechlessly as he settles – slowly, softly – down between my splayed legs, crossing his legs comfortably like I’m about to tell him a story. I wish I could see his face. He’s in shadow, his dark hair falling forward but an odd shine reflecting at me from his big eyes.

“…okay, Haru. I like little surprises as much as anyone, but really, you gotta tell me what’s going on or I’m gonna lose it here,” I finally say, voice low. I think I see a glimmer as he smiles.

“That’s what I’m counting on,” he says, and leans in, running my zipper down before I have a clue what he’s doing.

“Hey – !” I gasp and sit up straight, but he shushes me and tugs my white button-down out of my jeans. The night is mild but I still feel a shock of goosebumps flash across my abdomen, like it’s anticipating Haru as he leans – slowly, softly – to mouth at my skin.

I swallow, hard, one hand finding the cold metal arm of the chair and the other firmly pushing at Haru’s shoulder.

“Ha…Haru. No, we can’t do this out here. C’mon.”

He lifts up from my stomach, and splays his fingers across it before settling his chin back down like I’m his fucking pillow, looking up at me. There’s that glimmer of teeth as he smiles again, moving his chest gently (almost politely) against the area that appears to be next on his agenda. I swallow again and curse him for knowing me better than I probably know myself.

“You know I can’t keep quiet when you use your mouth,” I say in a rush, embarrassed, and Haru slithers up me then like a snake, kissing my lips with a little smack like I won some contest I didn’t know I was playing. He slides back down just as fast and returns to my belly, like he’s happy there, sucking gently at the skin that I know is nowhere as taut and fit as it was in my prime.

But he likes it. He’ll sometimes come up behind me as I’m making coffee or engrossed at the copier when no one else is around, and fit himself against my back, and slide a hand across my belly. And he’ll make the damn-cutest little noise, a sort of _mmm_ like I’m tasty, before he lets me go to saunter away.

Cheeky shit.

He’s freed me now, and it’s funny – the shocked goosebumps from before are nowhere as my hottest skin meets the night air. I lean my head back against the concrete wall and feel myself relaxing, my hands settling gently in Haru’s ultrasoft hair, my vertebrae slowly unkinking. I close my eyes (they aren’t doing me any good anyway) and in the blackness it’s just a distant point-counterpoint of horns in a traffic jam, the coolness of the concrete against my head, and Haru’s lips slipping smoothly over my tip.

I suck in a sharp breath, and then there’s Haru’s voice below me saying “Sou, I want to hear you” and those lips are surrounding me again. His lips, that were probably the second thing about him I started grudgingly scoping despite how much he irritated me to start. Right behind his eyes. Or possibly his ass…

He knows how I like this, knows how much I love it, the intimacy of it, the _giving_ it entails – Haru sitting down there giving all his attention to me and getting nothing back, at least not directly. And he gets so lost in it. That’s what sets us apart. There are many things that I love to do to my boy, to make him moan and just try to spoil him, but no matter what I do I can’t muster this almost _trance_ he can. I think it’s just the artist in him – he doesn’t operate in the same way “normal” people do, doesn’t see things the same way they do, and it shows in this as much as his work. (Just as much as I tend to hurry things along, I guess. Once an editor, always a fucking editor…)

“…ahhh, Haru,” I groan, as a rhythm takes shape – the flat of Haru’s tongue coaxing the underside of my tip almost roughly, the sharp edge of his teeth hidden by Haru’s upper lip rocking over the top, back, forth. Always, this pulsing, insistent suction, coming and going in waves with Haru’s rhythm. This humming – almost purring – he’s doing too, sending his vibrations down my shaft. His small hands, narrow fingers, moving too, one hand drawing along my base, the other tickling along the line of my hip.

And it’s good, so fucking _good,_ I can’t be embarrassed anymore of where we are or the truly embarrassing sounds I’m making. I sound like the Wolfman getting the best fucking massage of his life, growling and moaning as I lose my grip on myself and the waves take over, and I’m so far gone I can’t even warn Haru to pull off.

But he stays on, and holds me there and I gasp and hold Haru’s head and feel tears trickling down my cheeks from the sheer intensity of it all. Haru slips out from my hands and I feel him give my head a pat where I’m still leaning on the wall like it’s all that’s keeping me up, and I hear the door _shick_ open.

After a while I sit forward, blinking around like a bear coming out of its cave in May. The night is still warm and mild and benign, a new set of horns going off at each other somewhere down below. Haru has put me away and zipped me up neatly, and I shake my head, getting up and heading back into the room through the door he left open.

He’s in the bathtub, head tilted back and a satisfied smile on his face, flushed from the heat of the water (or something else, if I feel like flattering myself). There’s only the vanity light on but the difference is still enough to get me blinking again. He opens one eye and slides it over to take me in.

“Are you coming in or not?”

I scoff, but I don’t waste any time shedding my “bar-clothes” either.

“Goddamn, baby. You’re so impatient.”

He scoffs back but sits forward for me, seeming so small as he curls over his knees. I climb in awkwardly and groan again as I sit back, the water like velvet on my skin. I pull Haru to me and he lays back, resting his head on my shoulder.

I find I can’t let him go, keeping my arms around his middle like I’m a lifeguard rescuing him. Somehow, he doesn’t mind, laying his own hands over mine and humming softly.

“…I’m sorry,” I say finally. He goes quiet but doesn’t say anything, and I make a little growl, knowing I wasn’t done. “I see what you were trying to do there. I’m a cowardly lying bastard, you force me to go yell ‘I’m queer!!’ off the balcony. I guess I can’t argue with your methods…”

Haru pokes my thigh and I jump and squeeze him in retaliation. He rocks his head back enough to look at me.

“I just don’t think you have to hide yourself to these people. Why would they wanna do business with you any less? It’s the 21st century, give me a fucking break.” He makes a disgusted little _tsk_ and somehow it feels okay, it doesn’t feel like it’s for me, even if I am the product of a different time.

“I don’t think you fully understand doing business with these guys, Haru. This is the _oldest_ of old-boys’ clubs. I have to do what I need to to fit in, even if it feels like shit.” I poke Haru’s thigh this time but annoyingly he doesn’t even twitch.

“And hey! You wanna talk about fitting in, take a look at _Kisumi._ He’s practically taking them on a guided tour to this place, what’s he gonna do when he gets there? Chat-up the bouncer?”

“Kisumi likes women,” Haru says.

I smirk. “Uh, women like Kisumi, you mean.”

Haru rocks his head back down to a more comfortable spot, and starts gently stroking my leg, almost petting it. “No, he likes women just as much as men. Kisumi is pan.”

“He’s what.”

Haru sighs, and it’s a kind of amused sigh. “Never mind, it’s not important. Labels aren’t important. All that matters is being honest.”

I have honestly nothing to say to that, so I let him keep petting my leg and just hold him tightly. My lips find his temple, where his hair tickles my nose.

“…what are we, Haru? What would you call us?”

He moves his hand down to stroke around my knee in big circles. “I don’t think there’s a word for what we are. I don’t think it matters.”

*

Our presentation goes shockingly well the next afternoon. To be fair, I cover about 90% of it as Haru isn’t the presentation type, but he does a fabulous job walking the room through his designs. Our styles are a nice contrast, I realize as I sit beside him, watching his part. I’m dynamic, throwing in cheesy jokes to loosen the audience where I can, and very linear: A to B to C. That’s how I think, that’s how I teach.

Haru takes the audience on a journey. With the bright, inventive images up on the screen, he shares what was on his mind as he chose this pattern, that motif. I can tell they’re into it – last session of the day, and no one is even looking down at their phones to arrange where they’re going for drinks. It’s funny too; to watch Haru while he’s working, you’d never know all that is going on in his head – he looks distant, mostly, and sullen if it’s a particularly bad deadline we’re facing. But he really thinks about this stuff.

Shizu-san and Kisumi come up to us afterwards, waiting until we’re done with a line of well-wishers and guys eagerly pumping Haru’s hand and giving him their cards. Kisumi practically cackles at the alarm on my artist’s face at all the attention.

“Yamazaki-san!” the exec exclaims, shaking my hand. I surreptitiously look them over for obvious signs of hangover and am amused to see Kisumi smirking and fresh as a daisy, while the older man… isn’t.

“It appears all that extra work you two did last night paid off. What an impressive presentation!”

I take a deep breath, and somehow Haru knows what I’m up to, glancing up from where he’s stowing the laptop.

“Actually, we didn’t get a chance to work on it last night. Haru kept me too busy with… other things,” I tell him vaguely.

The exec blinks, confused but still smiling, and makes a quick recovery. “Oh, I bet he would! What a talented young man. My offer still stands, Nanase-san, to consider Rapid Force Designs if you’re looking for a change.”

Haru hefts the laptop bag over his shoulder and stands, ready to go, handsome in the dark suit he bought just for this. “Thank you. But I’m happy right where I am,” he says.

**Author's Note:**

> First, I can't recommend Daxii's [Thinking Escapes Me](http://archiveofourown.org/series/212681) SouHaru series that this is based on enough. It doesn't read like fic, but like a couple of guys sharing a bunch of really funny and sad and true and steamy secrets with you, and I don't know anyone who wouldn't like to read that ;') (actually, anything in her SouHaru tag is gold).
> 
> While I'm at it, if you love SouHaru please please visit [darkotter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/darkotter/pseuds/devious-sex-monster) and give her SouHaru tag a go. WOW ;)
> 
> Thanks so much to [popnographic](http://archiveofourown.org/users/popnographic/pseuds/popnographic), [iskabee](http://iskabee.tumblr.com/) and [hopenobodyeverfindsthis](http://hopenobodyeverfindsthis.tumblr.com/) for making this SouHaru Week happen - what a tremendous success!!
> 
> And thank you all so much for reading <3


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